Hamburger Hospitality
by aquamarinetiger98
Summary: Due to a kitchen fiasco, England is forced to spend a few days with America. Between McDonald's, coffee, aliens, and scary movies, England believes he's seen the worst of America's hospitality...but just when things are getting better, they suddenly take a turn for the worst. Will the hero be able to save their relationship? - Rated T for England's potty mouth - hint of UsxUk
1. Visiting America

"Ah...bloody hell."

Arthur Kirkland, better known to some as England, sighed.

He had spent the last few days up to his eyebrows with paperwork. Work work work, day and night, all he ever had to do these days was his blasted paperwork. Sure, occasionally he would be able to make himself a cup of Earl Grey, curl up with a book, or chat with his magical friends, but there were times when the words on the paper start to dance and he dearly wished he could give whoever invented this task a mighty blow on the head. All he wanted was to just take a nap and let his sore fingers rest. He had pulled more than a few all-nighters to get the work done. His blonde hair was more disheveled than usual, and dark edges had found their way under his viridian eyes. He felt like he was going mad. There was even a time when he held his pen to his mouth, thinking it was his tea. England looked dejectedly at the columns of white paper and vanilla folders that sat on his desk; that's it, he was going to take a break and eat, whether it was wasting his time on his paperwork or not. It was far past anyone's normal suppertime and he hadn't a bite to eat. He stood up pushed his wooden chair back, walking briskly towards his kitchen.

England had only rented this rather small flat because the office in his own house for once, could not hold in the load of rubbish. The flat only contained a kitchen, bedroom, tiny closet, and an even tinier living room, not that he cared, it was the large white office that he had chosen this place for. Once he was finished, he would be moving out of this place for good.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was white, with bright citrus-orange tiles as a back splash. Green orbs scanned the room, there was a sink, oven, microwave, and even a dishwasher. A minuscule freezer could also be found. He actually hadn't used much of it yet, except cook some burned-up toast and boil water for tea. To be honest, he didn't really like it, the modern simplicity a little to plain for his taste, but it wasn't like he was going to live here forever.

Tonight's supper was going to be stew. Arthur thought it was a good choice, it would serve to warm him up and also revitalize some much-needed energy for what looked like was going to be yet another all-nighter. Plus, no one cooked stew better than him, especially not that damned frog. A grin stretched onto his face. Wanker.

In a few minutes, he had chopped some vegetables, poured in some broth, and added meat, along with some other contents that should be censored if you ever happen to look at it. He could hardly wait for the stew to be done. Instead of returning to his paperwork, he sat on a stool and watched the flame from the oven warm his supper. _It's taking such a long time!_ his mind yelled at him, never in his life had he felt more aggravated at a stove. Grumbling impatiently, he got up and turned the dial, his eyes lit up with satisfaction as he watched the flame grow, and the aroma of the stew caressed his nostrils. He turned the dial even further, and he before he knew it, the pot was glowing hot and orange flames were licking at the stove's surface. England was getting concerned, and he reached an arm out to turn the dial back. _Is it even possible for a stove to get this ho-_

Suddenly, fire shot up from the stove, and he opened his mouth.

"BLOODY-!"

**_BOOM_**

The oven exploded, and England leapt towards the doorway, but not before the scalding contents of his stew spewed out onto his outstretched arm. "Agh!" The liquid burned his skin and he fell onto the floor, the pain blocking out everything else in his mind. The kitchen was ablaze, and he roused himself up. It was then that what was happening hit him full in the face.

"Oh for the love of-"

He dashed towards his office, desperate to save a week's worth of hard labor. And it was then that he heard the sirens, at least that bloody fire was going to be put out. Trying his best to ignore the agony on his arm, he grabbed the boxes full of his finished work and put it next the front door. He pushed the stack of unfinished work into a few more boxes, getting them to the door as fast as he could. Grabbing his suitcase, which he hadn't bothered to open since his arrival, England raced towards the door like a madman and grabbed his boxes, then proceeding to get into the hallway and close his door behind him. Letting out a groan, he looked down, his belongings, along with his work was with him. That stupid kitchen was on fire and he watched as firemen began to put out the flames, and he was escorted away from the apartment, where he got his left arm cleaned and bandaged.

And now he sat in the lobby of the local hospital, his cell phone raised to his ear, with a deeply sour look etched on his face. He was calling his boss, he needed another place to stay.

The line buzzed.

"Hello?" his boss' voice came on.

"'Ello boss."

"...Arthur?"

His reply was frank.

"Speaking."

"Ah, what are you calling me for? It's six in the morning."

_Drat. _England frowned, he was hoping to avoid this topic.

"I...uh...my kitchen blew up. I'm in the hospital with a burned arm, and I need a place to finish my paperwork."

The line went silent for a while. It wasn't the first time, his boss had to hear about his culinary mishaps.

"Again?"

**"**Unfortunately, yes."

There was a sigh from the other side of the line.

"I see. At this moment, I can't have a place ready for you yet, but I can arrange for a flight."

"Pardon?"

"You can go to someone else's house can't you?"

"I...well, yes I suppose I could."

"Well then you can on a plane and into a house in a few hours. Now I just-"

"Boss?"

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind me asking, where exactly are you arranging for me to stay?"

Thoughts raced through England's mind as he thought of all the places that he might end up in. Definitely not with that bloody frog, he had made it clear to all who knew him that he hated that man with a burning passion. Spain would most likely kick him out, the bastard just couldn't get over a few galleons of gold. Germany wouldn't be so bad, but he didn't want to eat nothing but wurst and potatoes. His thoughts momentarily wandered to the Nordics...Nah, they were too strange. A flight to either China or Japan would take more than just a few hours, and it was troublesome, not to mention completely pointless to fly for 16 hours just to do some paperwork. Italy! Italy was a nice place, the chap himself was a little on the weird side, and his brother really needed to learn how shut up; but if he could just stay out of their way, he would be able to do his work in peace, and in a nice environment also. Yes, that would be lovely, the place he would be staying at is going to be-

"America of course."

_WHAT?!_

"A-America?!" he shouted, drawing the attention of a few patients and some nurses, he quickly lowered his voice to an enraged whisper. "You can't be serious! Anyone but him-and that frog! Why the bloody hell would you send me to live with _that_ dimwit?!"

"Well" Arthur swore he could detect a tinge of humor in his boss' tone, "no one else is really available at the moment...that you would want to stay with."

"That's rubbish! What about Germany, Italy, or Switzerland? Or Greece!"

"Germany is busy at the moment, Italy is sick, you know very well Switzerland wouldn't think twice about killing you in your sleep if you so much as look at Lichtenstein, and Greece is also either too sick or sleeping for me to contact him right now."

England wanted to tear his hair out. "I am not staying with that idiotic hamburger-for-brains! America has got to be the worst choice! He's got an alien creature for a friend, murders my language, and-" he stopped, his mention of America and his rising voice was beginning to attract attention.

"...and?"

"J-Just don't put me with him! Am-Alfred is a complete imbecile!"

"It's your choice Arthur, either I can send you to Russia, who is the only one available at the moment, and you know I would _never_ do that; or you can take the plane to America. I won't have you staying anywhere else."

He glared daggers at his shoes.

"Fine."

"Thank you. Don't worry about the flat damage, I always have money saved up for situations like that. Meanwhile, I will have your flight arranged for you, I trust you have enough money to get to the airport? You didn't let that go down in the fire did you?"

"Certainly not."

"Good. I will call you to let you know more about your flight. Meanwhile, you should prepare yourself, and let me know when you're at the airport."

"Alright."

"Bye."

"Bye."

_Beep_

And the call ended.

Now he just had to inform the idiot he was coming over.

* * *

"Dude this is the life."

Alfred F. Jones, better known to some as America, sighed.

He had spent the last few days enjoying a much-needed break. He actually still had a little bit of work left, but his boss decided to be nice after America threatened him that he would make him provide ice cream for him for an entire year. Great man, his boss. America had been able to relax and spend some time chilling out with his best alien pal Tony in one of his vacation houses located in the north-eastern suburbs. The house itself was a reasonable size, and provided him with all he needed to get away from the endless amount of work that flooded his life. He was lying on his couch, panting from excitement after a heated-game between Tony and him on his X Box Sure he had lost, but heroes aren't sore losers, plus, it _was_ an exciting game. He was hungry, maybe he should order a Chinese takeout...? Nah, he'd had that yesterday, maybe he should order some pepperoni pizza instead. He was getting drowsy, and his lids began to droop over his sky-blue eyes and was about to fall asleep until...

_Riiiiiing!_

Oh _come on._

_Riiiiiing!_

_Riiiiiing!_

_Riiiiiing!_

America rolled over onto his stomach and picked up his phone, which had been lying on the floor. He grabbed it and pressed it to the side of his head, rolling onto his back at the same time.

"...Hello?" His voice carried a lazy drone

"America?"

The accent totally gave it away.

"England? Dude is that you?"

"Yes it is. Is there a problem?"

"No no..." America fiddled idly with Nantucket, "...I was just wondering why you were calling me, that's all. It's one o' clock in the morning here y'know."

"Well, the thing is, my boss told me that I have to stay at your place. You're boss already agreed."

"Really? Why?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"Alright, dude, calm down. You can be so uptight sometimes."

"First of all," the Englishman's tone was dangerously low, "stop butchering my language."

America's eyes rolled heavenward.

"Second of all, I will not 'calm down'. I have a mountain of paperwork that is yet to be finished, and I am not, I repeat, _not_ in a good mood right now."

He snickered, "I noticed."

"Shut up, wanker. Just be prepared for when I come alright? I'll just be staying for a few days."

"Yeah sure thing, just don't mess up my vacation."

"...You're on vacation?"

England couldn't help but feel jealous, the bloody idiot was on _vacation. _And here he was, standing in the middle of the street with a burnt arm and boxes of paperwork piled up next to him. Why did life just have to be so unfair?

"I sure am."

"Oh...sorry."

"It's fine, when will you be arriving?"

"It would be your morning tomorrow, eight-thirty I believe."

"OK see you Iggy!"

"What?! MY NAME IS NOT-"

_Beep_

America sighed and tossed the phone back onto the floor. Bad idea, he had to go to bed before he was too tired to drag his ass to his room. He bent over, picked up the phone, and climbed slowly towards his room, assisted by an almost equally tired Tony. The bed felt incredibly good on his back, better than the couch, and he let out a sigh of contentment; boy was he tired, maybe he shouldn't have stayed up so late-or early. What was he going to do about England? The man was most likely going to shut himself up somewhere and work on his papers, that try hard. England really should loosen up sometimes. Maybe he could use a vacation too. America shook his head and chuckled. But it probably wouldn't work out, he was just too uptight, especially during times like these. Suddenly, his blue eyes widened and he shot up from his bed, startling his alien companion as epiphany graced his features.

"That's it!" he shouted aloud. Sure this vacation was relaxing...but video games was only going to keep him going for so long. He needed to have some _fun. _Surely poking some fun at good old England wouldn't hurt would it? His eyes sparkled and he grinned mischievously as his mind thought about all the possible ways he could annoy the older country.

Alfred was going to enjoy this a lot.

* * *

England clutched his phone is his hand, and shaking violently, shoved it into his pocket. He was so furious he was ready to chuck it across the street and pretend it was America, but that wouldn't exactly painted a very flattering picture of him. Not that he cared. The blonde Brit was more worried about how he was going to spend his time at America's. It was definitely going to be horrible. The bloody wanker was calling him those absurd nicknames again, he was really going to do something about that when he got there. But his mind moved on, America had sounded pretty tired on the phone...well, it _was _early in the morning. The brat must've stayed up all night playing his stupid video games. Not like him, staying up till seven in the morning doing his work.

He exhaled slowly, watching his breath rise up into the winter sky. It was chilly, and despite the fact that he had fished out his favorite coat from his suitcase and wrapped himself in a scarf, he wasn't saved from the biting chill. Arthur could feel the cold breeze on the nape of his neck and roughen his cheeks. His nose was beginning to feel raw, and his knees knocked together. The landscape around him was bleak, grey buildings lined the empty street in which he was standing on. Soft orange light shone from the streetlight, and his green eyes followed a piece of paper as it danced across the asphalt, making _pita pat pit _sounds that echoed. Everywhere, it was deathly quiet, and during times like these, Arthur could almost feel a certain heaviness in his heart. Standing in the street, all alone...

_No_, he shook himself out of his reverie, his enormous eyebrows scrunching in frustration, _pull yourself together, England._

Soon, his ears picked up the sound of a motor and a black car sent from his boss appeared at far end of the alley, making its way towards him to take him to the airport. Wheels rolled to a halt, and he put his suitcase and boxes into the trunk, and then sat in the backseat so he could get some proper rest on his way to the airport. The driver was already informed of his condition, and said little during the drive save for a "Good day, sir." as he was dropped off at the airport. Arthur breezed through customs (being the country that he was), and soon found himself dozing off in the comfortable chair of his private first-class flight after informing his boss he was on his way to America. He gloomily to himself that his flight was most likely going to be far more enjoyable that his upcoming stay with America, but decided to just go to sleep, and soon, his forest green eyes fluttered closed, and contentment washed over his features as sleep overtook his small and tired frame.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hi there! If you are reading this, I will give you a very large virtual hug! Why? Because this my very first Hetalia fanfic, and also my first submission here on !_

_I hope you enjoyed reading this. I don't care what you do, follow, favorite, or even write a review, just let me know you read this, and I will be happy enough. ;w;_

_This will be continued, by the way, I wonder what America's planning to do to England~? We shall find out soon enough, America's not really one to keep surprises for that long after all, is he? I'm sure England will be totally thrilled too. No, its not because I enjoy playing jokes on England myself...or anything..._

_Anyhoo, I hope you like this, and please let me know if you do! ^ ^_

_If you actually want to hear the technical details of this, keep reading, if you don't need to be bothered with this crap, you can x out now, haha._

_I don't exactly know what sort of city would just allow Iggy to get away with blowing up his kitchen into smithereens and not have anything to say about it, nor do I know of such a city that would do that and also have an airport nearby, I don't live in England or Britain, in case you didn't know, but I do try to do my research, so feel free to correct me if I have strayed a little too far from reality. And yes, the north-eastern America that I wrote about is New England (haha) mostly because I'm more familiar with that area and the houses around it. Also about the time, in England I mentioned it was around 6 in the morning, and since England has a 5 hour-ahead-time-zone-difference-whatever-you-call-it-thing, it should be around 1 in the morning at America's place. And America said its late because I usually doesn't stay up that late. (What a coincidence I'm writing this at 1 in the morning...in America). In the beginning I used 'flat' instead of apartment because I've read that that is what's used instead of 'apartment'._

Flat - Apartment

_Thanks for reading~!_

_-aquamarinetiger98_


	2. Aliens are Harmless

It was a crisp Saturday morning when England stood outside America's front door. The air was freezing cold and he shivered despite the fact that he had fished his coat out of his luggage and wrapped a rather thick woolen scarf around his neck. Looking around, he pondered his surroundings for a moment. When his boss had given him America's location he had been rather surprised. He had expected the idiot would be staying somewhere like Orlando or Los Angeles-away from all the dreary weather. Instead, he was spending winter vacation in a house on the northeast coast-which really wasn't the place with the most sublime weather during this time of year and in this country. The house itself was quite nice however, it was built colonial style, green-colored with maroon shutters, and little evergreen shrubs dotted the driveway. It was similar to the other residential houses that were built nearby, although America's house was set a little apart from theirs. Countries tended to keep a certain distance from their people when they chose a place to live, that way confidential things like calls with their boss or other secrets could be kept secret. Arthur glanced at his watch, it was eight thirty-five, he'd promised Alfred he'd be there by eight-thirty, but he hadn't received any texts or calls from the nation as to where he was, so he assumed he just didn't care. The chill bringing him to the present, England made his way to the front entrance, setting down his boxes and then his luggage on the steps and brought his fist up to the door.

_Knock knock_

There was no response.

_Knock knock_

Was he even awake?

_Knock knock_

England kept knocking for a full twenty minutes, his calm slowly ebbing away each time he rapped the door. He could hear his knocks echoing inside the house. Soon, his knuckles felt raw, not only from knocking, but also from the biting cold; and then resorted to other methods of opening the door.

"America?"

_Knock_

"America are you there?"

_Knock knock_

Oh great, here he was once again standing alone, outside in the freezing weather, with his box of paperwork and luggage at his feet. It reminded Arthur of last night-and Arthur must certainly did _not _enjoy being reminded of the events of last night. His stomach churned at the very thought of it, and his knocking increased in volume. Gradually he began to yell.

"Open up Alfred!"

His shout was met with utter silence, which only served to infuriate him further.

"America! I have lost all patience with you! You hear me?! ALL PATIENCE! You had better come down here right now and open this bloody door! Bloody idiot do you realize how rude it is leaving someone such as myself stranded outside your door like a piece of soggy cabbage?! As a gentleman I consider this extremely inappropriate-no, absolutely ridiculous! If you don't open up I'm going to make all your radio stations play pigeon noises twenty-four seven just like I did to those damn macaroni brothers! And _are you even listening to me_?!"

From the outside viewer it would have looked like the blonde Brit was lodging a verbal attack against the front door instead of his intended victim.

* * *

While a certain Englishman was driving himself to his wits end at the front door, America has been sleeping off the effects of his late-night gaming. His alien companion lay sprawled next to him on his bed. After Arthur had called, he had stayed up even later relating his plans of mischief to Tony on what pranks he could play on the uptight so-called gentleman. He himself had laughed at some of the particularly good ones and he went to sleep looking forward to the arrival of the Brit. But now that he had gotten some rest...he didn't really feel like waking up. Alfred was slowly beginning to drift from consciousness once again when suddenly he heard some muffled noises coming from the front door. Must be some UPS guy dropping of a delivery of some sort. He moaned and snuggled further underneath his covers. The noise continued, and gradually increased, he could hear someone speaking. Oh right, England was coming over. He cracked an eye open at the electric clock that sat on his nightstand, it was already almost nine, England was supposed to arrive at eight-thirty... At this point the man must be really angry with him right now. He should probably get up, but it felt so warm and safe in his bed, and the pillow so soft...did he really have to?

Outside on the front steps, England was furious, he was beyond pissed. His face had turned crimson and his eyebrows bristled like storm clouds over his green eyes, which glowed with rage. Fists clenched at his sides, it took all the remaining restraint within himself not to toss his boxes of paperwork at the windows of the house. Arthur could not stand waiting in the cold for Alfred to door any longer. England yelled, England shouted, England _roared. _

_"_**ALFRED FOSTER**** JONES!**"**  
**

The house shook from its foundation as Arthur's voice rang through the neighborhood. Alfred tumbled out from his bed, _oh crap _England must be really pissed. He hurriedly grabbed his pajama pants and pulled them on, thankfully, he'd left his shirt on when he went to bed last night. Then Texas was shoved onto his face. America scrambled to his feet and dashed out to the front door, waking his alien friend in the process.

Arthur meanwhile, had been continuing his tirade.

"You wanker open up! OPEN UP RIGHT NOW! I am sick and tired of standing like this all the time! You git open the bloody door or I'm going to-"

The door slid open, revealing a very tired Alfred.

"Going to do what?"

There was a pause as both men took in each other's appearance. The Brit green eyes scanned Alfred's bleary face, his sleepy blue eyes, and Nantucket drooping on his forehead. His T-Shirt (which looked wrinkled) said: "French fries are a vegetable". Likewise, blue eyes looked over the messy blonde standing before him. Arthur's face was still flushed from his outburst, and although he wore a neatly cut jacket with a rather nice scarf, he looked disheveled and also could use some sleep.

"...burn down your house." Arthur finished lamely

"Pffft" Alfred chuckled, drawing a glare from Arthur, "how would you do that?"

"I have powers beyond your imagination!"

"Yeah yeah whatever."

"What do you mean 'whatever'?! It's true!"

"Mhm. Right." America was trying his hardest to hide the smug look on his face, to no avail, and his gaze fell on England's left arm, "Dude, you look terrible."

"Speak for yourself, idiot."

"At least I don't have chunks for eyebrows."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused."

"Why you-!"

"What happened to your arm?"

England quickly put his arm behind his back, hiding it from view.

"It's none of you business, git. Now if you will be so kind. _Please _let me in."

"Not until you tell me what happened."

"Do I have to tell you now?"

"No time like the present."

"Fine, I burned my arm alright? Let me in."

"You burned it? But how..." Alfred's eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he shivered from the cold temperature outside, and also ignored the rising impatience from Arthur, "...no not that...wait...your cooking?"

The venomous look from England confirmed his question.

"It is! Oh my God that's hilarious! I knew it was going to happen someday but I-" He broke into fits of laughter

Arthur gathered what was left of his dignity and gave Alfred a kick, then walked over to his boxes and luggage.

"Shut up, you bloody idiot."

He reached down and picked up a box, wincing at the pain his arm as he did so, when suddenly two hands reached over and lifted his burden. Alfred grinned at him, his face a little pink from laughing, and flashing pearly teeth.

"Here I'll take it."

"A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah! A hero like me can't let someone injured like you do this kind of work!"

Was he trying to be...nice?

"Besides you're getting to old for this stuff anyway."

Nope.

There was a loud "Ow!" from America as England give him a sharp blow to the shin, and had he not possessed that idiot superhuman strength, he would have dropped the box he was holding. Arthur could kick hard, and he wasn't going to let America forget it either. But in a few minutes the two were able to get all of England's paperwork into his guest room, and all that was left on the front steps was his luggage. While England was away checking to make sure that his papers had all safely reached their destination, America winked at Tony, who was nearby, and gave him the thumbs-up to start their 'operation'. The alien winked back and immediately got to work unzipping England's green suitcase. In a matter of seconds the alien had managed to fit himself in, and the suitcase was closed. No one could tell that the Brit's luggage had just suffered an alien invasion.

"America?"

Alfred jumped a little, and then turned around to face England, trying his best to smother his foolish grin. "Yeah?"

"I'll take my luggage," Arthur walked over and picked up his suitcase with his good hand, "thanks for the help, and I'll be in my room most of the time trying to finish my paperwork. Just try not to distract me, alright?"

"Sure thing dude."

"Right, let me know when supper...or dinner's ready."

"'Kay. I'll let you know when breakfast is ready too, since I haven't eaten any myself."

"Thanks." and with that, England headed up to his room and closed the door. America walked back to his couch to find a TV show to watch until breakfast, but he turned the volume low so that he could hear how his plans of mischief were going. However all he could hear was some silence and then the sound of papers being shuffled. Probably England getting out his papers, when would he open his suitcase? The America listened intently for a good ten minutes, but when nothing happened, he was just about to turn away to the game he was watching when he heard the sound of something being unzipped.

* * *

This was turning out to be quite a morning. Arthur hadn't even started on his paperwork, and already he was exhausted from his raging fit at America's front door. He should probably try to keep his anger issues in check more often but...it's not like America was really helping. Anyways he had to get to his paperwork. The burning pain in his arm still hadn't gone away (in fact, the cold had made it worse) but it hadn't affected his writing, so his work was still able to be done without conflict. He picked up his pen and began to write. All he could hear was the scritch-scratch of his pen against the surface of the paper and soon he found his mind drifting off into other places. He paused and looked around him. America's house was actually rather nice. The walls of his room were a pale, soft yellow. The bed was a deep evergreen and the room was otherwise rather neat. This rather impressed him, because he had seen that the rest of the house wasn't exactly in that good of condition. The video games, left over snack bags, clothes, and other nick-knacks lying around the house hadn't escaped his notice at all. All the same, he was grateful that at least his own room was clean. Arthur resumed his writing until he began to feel his hand getting sore. Funny, it hadn't gotten sore this quickly last time. He walked over to his suitcase to see whether there was anything in it that could be of any help. His hands were slowly unzipping the luggage when he stopped a little. His luggage seemed...bulkier? _I must be getting delirious..._ England resumed opening his suitcase.

And he could barely contain his surprise when a gray, red-eyed alien suddenly popped out from his luggage.

England instinctively leapt back at the unexpected appearance, almost knocking over his chair, he opened his mouth to shout for America when he was cut off by a loud "Haiiya!" from Tony as the creature struck a ninja pose and narrowed its ruby eyes, looking like it was ready to karate-chop the Englishman. Said Englishman stood staring at the alien, his jaw unhinged.

"...What the bloody hell?"

Was he seeing things?

All doubts were cast aside as Tony leapt onto him, sending him crashing to the ground. Arthur was genuinely shocked by the sudden attack, but he wasn't a former empire-or pirate for no reason, he quickly regained his composure and grabbed Tony's thin wrist, which had been preparing for a strike. The tide of the battle immediately changed, and soon it was England kneeling over the alien, pinning the creature's arms to the ground. As the alien struggled England was about to once again yell for America, because the bloody idiot certainly had some explaining to do, when Tony grabbed on hard to his left arm. England let out a yell of pain and let go of Tony and the fight resumed. Papers flew in the air and furniture tipped dangerously as the two fought, while Arthur was bigger in stature and more experienced, his left arm and fatigue wasn't doing him much good, while the alien was small, flexible, and hard to catch. The alien would dodge in and out of his grasp, one minute he would be bouncing on the bed, and in the blink of an eye, would be standing on his desk sticking out its tongue. Arthur was wise and decided not to move all around the place and instead, threw blows in multiple directions from the center of the room.

That plan was rather effective...until Tony suddenly changed to an altogether, very different, tactic.

It began throwing things at him.

The Englishman's jaw was once again left slack in disbelief as the tiny creature began hurling at him anything it could get its hands on. At first, it was the glossy ebony fountain pen that flew past Arthur's cheek, small loss. He dodged that one easily. England was about to step forward again when a heavy copy of _Studies in Archaeology _,which had been lying on his desk when he came in, was sent hurtling at him also. This didn't particularly bother him either-since it wasn't a book he was particularly interested in, and frankly, he had been surprised to find it in America's house. More things came flying at his face, an eraser narrowly missed his left eye, and a pink stress ball was also thrown at him, followed by a shower of paper clips. Despite Tony's best efforts however, England's process was not halted in the least, and he was only a few steps away when the alien made a last-ditch effort and did something that pushed Arthur's level of annoyance up a whole notch.

No sooner had he reached out his hand to grab the daft little thing and end the entire fight (if you could even call it a fight) once and for all, Arthur's gasped as Tony's gray fingers closed around the piece of paper that was lying on his desk, and crumbled it into a ball. The little paper projectile made a _pit _noise as it bounced off England's head. The green-eyed man only stood stock-still, puzzling the alien enemy. A few more crushed balls of paperwork was tossed at him, and Arthur felt his ire rising up.

How dare that...that _creature_ scrunch up the precious papers that he had toiled over for days like it was worth little more than a piece of old scrap paper!

Moreover, why were these things happening to him, and him alone?

Why did life always had to be just one fat joke for Arthur Kirkland?

Arthur lunged at Tony, who was in the process of crumbling another piece of his work, taking it by surprise. The chair nearby crashed as the furious Englishman knocked the alien from its perch on the desk, and the situation became as it was before. This time, Arthur made sure the wriggling alien wouldn't be able to grab his burnt arm. But he didn't account for it to suddenly jerk upwards and bite it instead. England was barely able to suppress a scream. He scrambled up from the ground and hit the wall, unable to ignore the pain sinking into this skin. All he could feel was his nerves screaming, and for a moment, he stood there with his back to the wall, unable to move.

That pause gave Tony the opening it was looking for.

Before he knew what was happening, the alien had grabbed his legs, and with more strength than the Brit thought it could possess, lifted him up. The world spun in alarming way, Arthur reached out his right arm to catch himself. He never got the chance. Wood flooring greeted England's vision as he came smashing down onto the ground, most of the impact brought onto his suspended arm, and Arthur's eyes widened.

* * *

When he heard the: "Haiiya!" from Tony, America knew that the fight had begun. He was looking forward to listening to a good brawl between Tony and England. America dearly wished that he could open the door and witness the scene, but that would have ruined the entire thing. A grin stretched onto his face and he fought the urge to burst out laughing whenever he heard the screech of furniture or the rustling of paper. Not laughing was particularly hard when he could hear the Englishman making angry noises in the room. Banging, crashing, and all sorts of sounds came out from the room, but Alfred was not the least bit concerned, it was all for the fun of it, and he could always help Arthur clean it up later. There were a few times when he heard painful noises issuing from the other nation, but he was pretty sure Arthur could take care of himself. The fight had managed to entertain the American for quite a while until he noticed it had already been a good measure of time since the fight began.

He was about to get up and stop the fight when he heard a loud crash, then a terrible crack-and England yelling:

"AUGH!"

The yell was followed by a string of colorful language and the smile left Alfred's face as he hurried towards Arthur's guest room. He flung open the door, and was met with the sight of a devastatingly messy room, a rather sheepish looking Tony sitting in the corner with its arms behind its back, and England...bent over on the floor. The Brit was cradling his right arm, which hung at a bizarre angle. Small gasps of pain emanated from the blonde.

It was then that Alfred realized that Arthur had broken his arm.

...Oh crap.

* * *

**A/N: **_To start, I am very sorry for the long update. I've been having a very busy week, and I was away last weekend, sorry! _

_I promise next week's update will be on Friday. _

_You guys are so nice for actually reading this, seriously. Hugs and cookies (and scones, if you want them) to you all! I was really happy when I actually started getting reviews, so I can't thank you enough. Speaking of reviews, I'm just going to reply to them the day I update (unless its an urgent review of some sort) because I'm very busy during the week, and its already quite an effort to find the time to write this, so my apologies for not replying soon enough. _

_Now about this chapter (as usual, if you don't want to be bothered with the technological crap, you are welcome to move on), yup, I just broke Iggy's arm, and now he's barely able to use both of them, please don't kill me, I love Iggy as much as the next person. I had to look up stuff about broken arms, just because I've never broken any arms myself. America's plans are going a little out of whack, obviously, I can't wait for him to explain to England what the whole Tony-going-ninja thing was about. _

_Hopefully that Arthur vs. Tony fight was satisfactory, I absolutely suck when it comes to writing about fighting, I can picture it all in my head, but the words just can't come out...so..yeah...I hope it was good! In my head-canon, Arthur _is_ a really good fighter, but his arm's just really not giving him the time of the day. _

_Let me know if I'm putting too much 'bloody', 'git', 'idiot', and stuff like that. I'm well aware that it can get annoying after a while, so I want to know whether I'm using it to the excessive. Other constructive criticisms are also more than welcome._

_I decided to set this in north-eastern America for the sake of the plot, also because I'm familiar with it. And in January, parts of the country, especially further up north, can get really, really, really cold. Just one breath of wind and you feel like your marrow's turned to ice, so you can imagine how pissed Arthur was about standing out there in that sort of weather, sorry Artie. (I just can't stop apologizing now)_

_Thanks for reading, and hasta la pasta~!_

_- aquamarinetiger98_

_(and I forgot this last time)_

**Disclaimer  Unfortunately, Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya**

_P.S. FINALLY, I got myself a Hetalia tumblr so that I can rid myself of all the Hetalia posts clashing with my other favorites piling up in my other dash_


	3. Silence is Golden

Maybe it had gone a little too far.

England's back was turned to him, but America couldn't tear his gaze away from the arm that stuck out crazily from the other's shoulder. He had been expecting a fairly good fight between Tony and Arthur, and was hoping that Arthur would lose...but definitely not this. Not a broken arm. Alfred's head began filling up with thoughts and tumbling emotions. It's not like he meant for this to happen, it was only a joke, though there were times where he felt like England deserved more than a broken arm, maybe a kick in the ass too, but right now the guy just looked exhausted and overly cranky. And since everything had turned out like this, his other mischievous plans would also be harder to carry out too, and that was no fun. His vacation had suddenly gotten a hell of a lot more complicated than he had anticipated, that's for sure, now he just had too-

"Explain yourself."

Arthur's voice cut through the air like a knife. There was barely a hint of emotion, but Alfred knew Arthur well enough to know that there was fury hiding deep inside. The Brit had turned around now, and Alfred could see the pain from his arm was evident in his face however hard he tried to conceal it. Everything about Arthur seemed a little more prominent than before; the dark fatigue under his now deep evergreen eyes, the pale skin that lacked sunlight, straw-colored hair wild as a lion's mane, and tight lips closed shut from not speaking for heaven knows how long due to being locked up with his work. He was pulled by his thoughts as Arthur spoke again, this time a little louder.

"I said, explain yourself."

He forced himself to stare into England's green eyes before replying. "U-Um...I think we should get you to the hospital dude." What the hell? He wasn't explaining himself at all! But there was no response from Arthur, and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air like a wet blanket. Alfred bit his lip, he hated awkward moments like this. The two stood there, and America made the first move, putting a hand gingerly on England's shoulder, helping him up, and pushing him towards the door. "Come on man, I can get you to the car, there's a hospital nearby and everything and the drive will only be-"

"Alfred."

He was cut short; Arthur usually didn't call him by his human name. Besides in front of other mortals, his human name was only used when the blonde was feeling rather tender-or extremely serious. America guessed it was the latter. England was acting a little strange right now, normally he would be pushing the American away, uttering violent curses; but the Englishman had been strangely silent after the fight. Though whatever it was, it definitely wasn't affection.

"What is going on?"

"Ah-" He was suddenly extremely interested in the patterns on his hardwood floor, and his mind scrambled for an excuse, "that's just Tony's way of welcoming guests. I should really talk to him about it! I'm sure he'll treat guests better next time, right Tony?" He flashed a too-bright smile down at the gray alien still standing in the room. The creature gave a small nod of agreement. America turned his attention back to England.

"That aside, you can follow me to the garage, we'll be at the hospital in no time! I'll just get changed and stuff..." He gave a nervous laugh

England made no reply, simply walking away from him, causing America to let out a shaky chuckle again. "Uh, dude, the garage is the other way."

"Right." was all that he was able to get from England as America led him to his car.

* * *

The drive to the hospital was a quite one. Arthur spent the entire time staring out the window at the scenery that passed by the large window of Alfred's car. He had chosen to sit in the backseat, and Alfred guessed that it was so he could be as far as possible from the American. America was pretty sure that, given the chance, England would have rather sat in the trunk completely out of view of America. Not that he could really blame Arthur wanting to stay away from him, his tone earlier was filled with accusation, but trying to distance himself like that was getting on his nerves. Silent car rides were really not Alfred's thing-and Arthur was sitting there-if one could excuse the metaphor, not unlike a very gloomy rock.

"So..." he raised his eyes up to the rear-view mirror to get a better look at his passenger, "...how's the arm feelin'?"

A painfully long pause followed, and America was about to repeat his question when England finally answered.

"It's fine."

It was short and hollow-sounding, but at least it was a reply.

"...Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then why did you say its fine? I'm sure a broken ar-"

"America, kindly shut up, and drive."

Alfred opened his mouth to object, but Arthur suddenly turned away from the window and gave a poisonous look at the rear-view mirror, and Alfred's mouth closed. Only the sound of the engine running and of other cars passing by could be heard now. The previous scene was restored and England was once again staring quietly out the window and Alfred left in that oh-so-uncomfortable silence. Everything was so...peaceful and quiet, it almost made Alfred want to wriggle. Before he could do that though, he instead resorted to the only other thing that could really keep him company-the radio. In seconds his finger was on the button, jabbing at the arrows to get it to the right station, and the vehicle was filled with cheerful country music. Alfred felt like that was a little too relaxing for his mood-but the music kept him a little more occupied. His heart skipped giddily with the strum of the guitar strings, he'd kept the volume at a tolerable amount in consideration for the grouchy Brit sitting behind him, even if he wasn't quite sure the other really appreciated that.

Pleasant singing continued as Alfred pulled into the dim parking lot of the hospital. The car beeped as it unlocked and beeped again as both Alfred and Arthur got out of the car, each respectively dejected and stoic since the America's offer of assistance was promptly refused by the still-silent Arthur. Blue eyes never left the other's dangling arm as their footsteps echoed through the seemingly never-ending concrete maze of the parking lot. Both countries kept on making their way down the dimly lit path until they reached level ' C 3' and a small dingy rectangle that had a metal door, which Arthur assumed was the elevator, found its way into their view. They stepped in, and Alfred pushed the glowing neon buttons to reach the main lobby, in seconds the door squeaked open and they were met with the spotless white of the hospital waiting area. Arthur's lips curled into a frown as his mind began to relive once again the previous circumstances that had brought him to a hospital. He quickly resisted the urge to lash out and punch something (Alfred would have been a most satisfactory target) but admonished his inner turmoil and followed the American to the marble counter.

"Hello there! How can I help you?" The secretary beamed brightly at the two blondes standing before her.

"Hi!" Alfred flashed his trademark grin back at her, "we um, have a broken arm here-"

Here he stuck a finger pointedly at Arthur's arm.

"-can you show us where he can get it fixed? Like a cast or somethin'?"

Arthur felt like he was in fear of being blinded as the woman's hazel eyes crinkled and smile grew even broader than before; her gaze fixed onto his.

"Of course!"

"Thanks! Show us the way ma'm!"

The lady practically skipped from her place at the front desk and made her way into a separate room down the hall, away from the anxious mothers and impatient children. It made England wonder how she could still smile like she was the happiest woman on Earth, doing such a job and in a place like this. He stepped into a room and was met with a brilliant white room with a desk, cabinet, simple green bed, and a small window in the back of the room. Everything in the room was squeaky clean, he could almost see his reflection in the polished marble floor. Whoever ran the place must be a hell of a neat freak.

He was distracted from his musings as the secretary patted the green bed in an excited manner, motioning for Arthur to sit. There was no choice other than to obey, and he sat down, grimacing when he felt pain shoot up his arm. America, who was leaning against the counter in the corner, frowned, but otherwise pretended not to notice (one wonders why he chooses not to read the atmosphere), and focused his attention to the rest of the room. He listened to the _click clack_ of heels as the secretary left to get a doctor. America dared not sneak a glance at the Englishman less anything might happen, but before he could stop himself, blue orbs slid to the side and he almost jumped as he realized said Englishman was looking directly at him, green eyes boring into his own. For a second, Alfred was afraid that the man had seen through his façade, and knew that it was him who had really pulled the prank, him who was the mastermind behind it all. When he was little, England always somehow managed to know he had stuffed his trousers under the bed because he got them dirty or he'd rearranged the biscuits on the plate because he ate one. It was rare that he was ever able to hide anything from the older nation. America blinked, no...maybe he used to be able to do that, but after everything that's happened between them...he told himself there was no way the Brit would understand _that_ well. His jeans rustled as he shifted uncomfortably, he wasn't used to being alone with England like this, it was so totally _weird_, they were, like, sitting in a hospital waiting for some doctor to come and fix England's arm, in silence, together, alone...

Dammit, now he was beginning to sound like that perverted Frenchman. Alfred blinked harder and removed his gaze from Arthur's, moving away to look at the walls instead; which was a bad choice, there really wasn't anything to look at. But he had to be looking at something, _anything_, just not those piercing emeralds that seemed to see right through him.

While America was getting lost in his innermost thoughts, England's eyes had never left his face. The tired blonde tried to detect any other hint as to exactly why they had to be here so he could fix a broken arm. He hadn't been satisfied by the previous explanation, that it was just the little rascal's way of greeting guests. It wasn't the first time he'd been to America's house while the gray creature was staying there also. But it had been a bit of a while, maybe the alien was just being extra jumpy lately. His eyes narrowed as he watched Alfred's eyes darting back and forth, the America was unconsciously gripping the counter like his life depended on it, all signs of, well, nervousness? Finally America pulled his eyes away from England and looked at something else, presumably the wall. Arthur suppressed the urge to sigh, that boy was definitely hiding something. He was about to open his mouth and ask what, when the door opened and the doctor walked in.

He wore a bright smile, dark black glasses and had chestnut brown eyes and hair. His clothing matched that of the rest of the hospital, and was pure white, from his coat down to his pants, save for the light blue shirt he wore underneath. The man, who seemed to be in his mid-forties, nodded politely at Alfred, and made his way to Arthur.

"Who is this unlucky young man?"

A smile found itself on England's face, being called young was something he could never get used to, considering just how old he is. But the human didn't know who, or what he truly was, so he smoothed his amusement into that of a polite smile.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, and you?" this, directed at America,

"Alfred F. Jones." came the cheerful response.

"Good good!" the doctor walked over to the cabinet that Alfred stood next to and opened it up, pulling out a large triangle-shaped bandage. He took it and stood in front of Arthur on his injured side. "Now this might hurt a little," he said to Arthur, his voice still pleasant, "but it'll be over in a few minutes." This irked Arthur the slightest bit, he'd experienced things far worse than a broken arm...but broken bones took a long and painful time to heal, and he wasn't about to start complaining, at least not now. So instead he merely nodded his head.

Just as the doctor said, it was over in a few minutes. His hands skillfully moved around as he pulled the bandage around this way and that, and tied a reef knot, then proceeding to tuck the remaining bandage under it. He eyed the arm critically, rearranging things a little, before he stepped back and the smile returned to his face.

"There, you're all done."

Arthur forced another smile and stood up, fingering the cloth gingerly. "Thank you, um..."

"Doctor Davis," the man finished for him with a smile, "And you're welcome, but if you don't mind-can I give you a suggestion?"

"Yes?"

"Well, you look like you could get some sleep, consider it a helpful tip." Doctor Davis winked at England,

There was a moments silence as England blinked, "H-How did you know?"

"Oh its simple really!" laughed the doctor, "I can tell because you have circles under your eyes, and you show all signs of looking tired."

Deep down, America found himself agreeing with the man.

Trying his best to seem unfazed, Arthur nodded politely, "Thank you again, I'll be sure to keep that in mind." The doctor beamed and showed the two of them the way to the hallway and into the main lobby. Soon, both English-speaking nations had left behind the world of syringes and forever-smiling staff, and once again sat in America's car. Throughout the drive, Alfred miraculously said nothing to Arthur, much to the British man's surprise, but it was most likely due to the unwelcome reaction he had received the last time he'd tried to break the ice. Instead, the American simply opted to keep the radio on, which was fine with the Englishman, until 'Gangnam Style' came on, and America couldn't keep himself from humming along. England's left eye was beginning to twitch and he was about to tell America to turn the radio off when he noticed with much relief that they had pulled into Alfred's driveway.

There was shuffling as America hopped out of the front seat and slammed the door of his car. He started walking towards his front door when he realized that he hadn't heard the sound of the other door closing. Turning around, he found himself looking at an extremely frustrated England, who was busy trying to pry open the car door. Chuckling quietly to himself, he opened the door for England with a click, perhaps this was a way to get back into Arthur's good graces. So Alfred did not expect the acid and deeply ungrateful look that Arthur gave him when he climbed out from the car. He frowned, what was wrong?

But he decided to maintain his anomalous silence a little longer. He'd heard the doctor before, and he was right. Arthur looked close to collapsing in exhaustion, although he did his best to hide it from everybody else; he looked like he needed a...

..hug.

Wait what?!

America shook his head fiercely, what was he thinking? England's weird aura was probably rubbing off on him or something, he wasn't worried about the Brit at all. The old man'll be jumping about acting as lively as ever in a few days. He'll be fine...there was no need to worry. So why did seeing the other blonde in that state bother him so much? It shouldn't have. He looked up, only to see the English nation tapping his foot impatiently at the front steps. Oh right, he'd forgotten to open the front door. Whoops.

* * *

"Yo Artie!"

The sound of America's voice echoed down the hallway. _Artie, Artie, Artie... _

"What do you want?" was the muffled reply from the doorway,

"You wanna eat dinner?"

It seemed like a stupid question, but Alfred could dare anyone to tell him it was. After they'd arrived home, and Alfred sheepishly opened the front door, Arthur had immediately gone up to his room and locked himself inside. From the sounds that came from within, he could hear that England was trying to clean up. Later the noises of shuffling stopped and he assumed the Brit had been somehow successful. After that, the green-eyed nation had kept himself locked up for a good part of the day, missing both breakfast and lunch. America couldn't understand why, he couldn't live without at least a hamburger or something for a quick snack, but England had not eaten a bite of anything, and he doubted that Arthur had decided to pack food with him. Whatever his reasons were, Alfred decided to lay off his pranks for a little bit and give the other blonde a little time to recover from his previous one. Instead of pestering the older nation, he resorted to listening to music, playing more video games, and eating some leftover Chinese food from the previous night. The afternoon passed slowly and quietly, and the sky gradually darkened. Now it was time for dinner, and although he'd kept his distance for a while (more than he liked, really) Alfred decided it was time for the man to come out and eat something lest he die from undernourishment and _he_ would be the one to blame. Alfred waited with baited breath for a reply.

"Alright."

Yes!

"I'll have it ready in a minute Iggy!"

That reminded England of the resolve he'd made when he first called America. He needed to do something about those blasted nicknames. Arthur softly closed the book that he had been reading and set it down back on the newly cleaned desk with a little difficulty, which he noted with disdain. Sighing, he looked around. He'd managed to get the room into a condition as close to what it was before as he could. Things weren't quite as neat and orderly as they had been when he first came, but it was better than what it had been after his fight with the alien. He stood up and his stomach let out a belch. Quickly Arthur put a hand on his stomach; was he really that hungry? But then again, he _had_ missed breakfast and lunch. The door slammed open, and he whirled around to see Alfred beaming in the entrance.

"DINNER'S READY ARTIE!" shouted the American,

His ears weren't quite used to this much noise.

"Will you stop shouting," he growled, "it hurts my eardrums."

"Ahaha!" America didn't seem to notice his protest, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Well dinner's waiting, man I don't know about you but I'm _starved_."

"Alright alright I'm coming."

The two countries made their way down to America's kitchen, and when England saw what was sitting on their plates, he almost couldn't believe his eyes. Almost.

On their plates were two hamburgers.

Hamburgers.

Bloody _hamburgers_.

That hated combination of bread buns, grilled meat patty, cheese, and lettuce. If there was pickles in it, that would make it worse. Of course it was going to be hamburgers, what was he expecting, fish and chips? That would have been a little too good to be true though. Arthur groaned inwardly and turned to Alfred, it was time to make that daft idiot understand something about him and his hamburgers.

"America..."

"Hm?"

"I'm not eating this." Arthur barely managed to keep the disgust from his voice,

"Why not?"

"Because," he began matter-of-a-factly, "I refuse to eat this...junk food like you do for dinner. It's unhealthy and frankly, doesn't taste good _at all_."

"Hey it's not junk! I don't eat this everyday either! I drink enough diet Coke to make up for it, and yes it does taste good!"

"Admit it America, you eat this almost all the time, and diet Coke doesn't do anything to fix it!"

"Of course it does! It's _diet Cok_e Iggy, it has no sugar, and therefore, is perfectly healthy."

"Stop calling me those confounded nicknames! I have a name, and it's England, or Arthur Kirkland, thank you very much!"

"No way _Artie_! You're reaction is totally worth it all the time too!"

"I-It most certainly is not!"

* * *

Dinner did not officially begin until both America and England had managed to calm down from their shouting match. Neither side backed down until America received a final scathing insult about his hamburgers and decided there was no point in arguing with the Brit. After all, it meant an extra burger for him. He ended up having to heat up some canned tomato soup for Arthur, who accepted it, if grudgingly. He had to use his left arm to hold the spoon. The two sat together in silence, or, semi-silence. America was wolfing down one burger after another (of course he'd bought more than just two burgers, he wasn't America for nothing) while England quietly sipped his soup and watched the orange broth shine under the kitchen light. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, coming from a can. He could tell it was artificial, but he could care less, the tangy flavor satisfied his taste buds-and his stomach. The soup in his bowl slowly diminished into a puddle of orange-colored liquid.

He paused when he realized that the barbaric munching noises coming from across the table (which he made a point of ignoring) had ceased. Arthur looked up, and gave a start when he saw those atomic blue eyes staring right back at him. Alfred was grinning from ear to ear and he was giving Arthur one of those looks whenever he was extremely excited.

"Hey Artie."

Arthur couldn't tea his gaze away from those eyes.

"I've got an idea."

* * *

**A/N: **_Hi again! This was...a really difficult chapter to write._

_I'd promised that this would be out on March 1st last time...but I've obviously failed miserably at that, I'm behind by nine days. I tried to do that because it was going to be my birthday that Friday but oh well. What's done is done. School's been an absolute (as Romano would say) '_bastardo_', and I'm currently suffering from a headache, and before, a massive writer's block. My hands hurt from typing. I made this chapter a little longer than the other ones because I'll be away for a trip in our school marching band, which equals less writing time! I'm sorry! March is just the worst month for me...the first few months of the new year are always the worst, as it seems. This chapter was longer as compensation for the upcoming delay, since it's way past my 3,000 word limit, almost to 4,000._

_The amount of research I do for this thing is almost pitiful. I had to look up how to bandage a broken arm and more information on broken arms, I rock._

_By the by, I don't believe Diet Coke really...helps you that much myself. Just saying. And about that little Gangnam-style quip I made there, I kind of see Arthur as someone who can get annoyed by it after while...when he's dead sober, that is. If he's drunk then we all know he'd be dancing harder than South Korea. As for America, well, most American's (myself excluded) do like the song, so why shouldn't he? I can totally picture him prancing around the house shouting: "Heeeeey sexy lady!" ... OK I'll stop now._

_I hope that little hug scene was to your satisfaction also, tried to do some USxUK fluff, failed again. ;w;_

_I forgot to mention last chapter at that part when Arthur shouted Alfred's name. I'd looked up Alfred's middle name. Most fans dubbed it 'Freedom' but [Hetalia fun-fact] Himaruya had actually been considering '_Franklin'_, '_Foster_', and even '_Fuck_'. (Nice.) I opted for '_Foster_' because it sounded nicer to me. _

_Sorry for the hospital scene, its a little weird, I started trailing off and then I didn't even know what I was writing. I'm not too familiar with hospitals, so sorry if its not that accurate XD . Everything keeps going into detail because of all the little America-life head-canons I have going on in my head. (like America keeping his shelves well-stocked...) I hope this chapter at least brought Alfred a little back into your good graces, if not Artie's._

_Dear Guest reviewer from last time, yes, Alfred was being an absolute prick~_

_Another reason why I'm going to be taking a while is because I'm in the planning stage for another fanfic! I've adopted _voodoogirl360' _s fanfic, "Every Time a Bell Rings" which was being discontinued, and its such an awesome story. Read it if you have the time. I'm still processing as to how the story's going to go because I tend to take my time when I'm planning things. _

Next Chapter Preview -

"Alfred I can't...breathe! Let go of me!"

"N-No way dude!"

"I always knew you were scared of things...but really?"

"I'm not scared! Heroes aren't s-s-scared of anything!"

_Thanks for reading, as always!_

_- aquamarinetiger98_

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya **


	4. Monsters are Real

Arthur blinked.

"I've got an idea Artie!"

"You...just said that."

"I know but I'm really excited!"

"Well what is it?"

"Let's watch a horror movie!"

"Why? I thought you were terrified of those." England tilted his head at America, when he was little, the boy would always make England read scary stories to him before he went to sleep...which resulted in him spending an extra hour comforting the trembling child until he fell asleep, exhausted from terror. When he was little...

Give him two hundred-plus years and he still hasn't changed a bit.

"Ha! Me, scared? No way! I'm the hero!"

"Whatever, you still haven't answered my question, why do you want to watch it?"

"Because they're cool! Zombies, witches, vampires, and g-ghosts too. The suspense just gets bigger, and better, and builds up-and the settings are amazing! There's like, creaky haunted houses, and like, dungeons. Oh, like one time there was th-"

"America," Arthur cut in exasperatedly, "I get it, but why do I have to suffer along with you?"

This caught Alfred a little off guard. He hadn't really thought about it. All he really wanted was watch the new movie. Something inside just naturally included Arthur in those things. It came out of his mouth without thinking, like those times when he begged for those stories...

Oh damn, this wasn't the time to start getting depressed!

"Aw come on Artie!" He gave Arthur a hearty shove, "You aren't scared right? Just watch it, please?"

Alfred put on his best puppy-dog eyes, and England sighed.

"Fine...but I'm not doing it for you, I haven't got anything else better to do, that's all."

"Alright!" America pumped his fist in the air, making England jump a little, "Let's do this man!"

* * *

Rules were a big part of England's life. He's heard and learned many of them along the way, and abides by the ones that he found reasonable. Heck, he's been around _before_ rules were made. It was after all, part of, his being a gentleman. Holding doors for people, greetings, saying 'bless you', it was all in the book. But never did he ever hear of _movie rules_. England found them completely absurd.

"If you don't hurry up and start the bloody movie, I am going to leave."

"But..." said American looked up from his task, "it has to be just right!"

As soon as Arthur'd agreed to joining Alfred in watching the movie, the excited blond immediately began setting about 'preparing' for everything. According to Alfred, there were 'Movie Rules' that he had to abide by when watching movies at home, especially scary ones. Arthur had to practically whack him in the head to prevent him from elaborating further on the finer points of movie-watching. However, that didn't stop him from scrambling around the house picking up things here, placing them there, his head swinging around this way and that, Nantucket shook so hard England was afraid it'd fall off. Apparently to watch scary movies in one's home one had to:

1. Pick a nice, frightening-looking movie. The type with a glowing green cover, and a summary in the back that trailed off mysteriously...

2. Snack on something tasty, preferably something you can eat with your hands quickly, like popcorn, or candy.

3. Keep the room as dark as possible. Pull the curtains closed at the windows, turn the lights off, even the laptops and phones have to be turned off; not a sliver of light should remain. It would like, totally destroy the mood!

4. Things in the room have to be arranged comfortably, and some of the dangerous stuff more out of reach. Being comfortable watching a movie was a must in the first place, and violent reactions to the movie make it easy to accidentally destroy some precious property. (Arthur doubted that would have helped at all, considering Alfred's inhuman strength)

5. Finally, one had to start off the movie with good expectations. Prepare yourself for the experience ahead (here Arthur scoffed) but don't over think it, otherwise you might ruin any surprises coming up.

All of the above was listed with great enthusiasm, there were some other things in between that England didn't quite catch as he watched America chatter away. He chose to simply sit on the sofa and make himself comfortable, watching America flounder about. Everything was taking much too long though, the blue-eyed nation being meticulous about things for once in his life actually bored him, and he began to drift off. But a little slap on the head stopped him.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty, wake up, the movie's about to start." Alfred grinned

Arthur groaned and mumbled something about how it was his fault for taking so long as he sat up. The other just laughed and sat down, grabbing a pillow and some popcorn.

"Ready dude?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." was the gruff reply

America just smiled and pressed the button for 'play'. Both of them jumped a little as bone-chilling music suddenly blasted out from the speakers. Alfred paled immediately, and Arthur's hands flew to cover his ears. The music kept on, the violins screeching in the background with the occasional high-pitched scream of a flute, even Alfred couldn't take it anymore and snatched the remote to lower the volume. England let out a small sigh of relief. Hopefully the rest of the movie wasn't going to be as bad.

Much to England's dismay, it was. 'Blood Moon Murders', which America had picked, turned out to be a big disappointment. It wasn't at all scary. The plot was poorly set up, something hackneyed about how a family died in an abandoned haunted house and every night the moon turns 'blood red' and zombies (or vampires, he couldn't remember) came out and devoured unknowing people. Ketchup blood was everywhere, a full moon appeared four times in a row, and there were moans and screams every five seconds, accompanied by ominous shadows of trees and ghosts that had no relation to the story whatsoever. Arthur wondered whether the director simply threw in a bunch of scary things and sound effects and declared it a movie.

The movie itself was boring, but it was something else that caught the Englishman's attention. And it was the fact that Alfred was completely and utterly terrified. He smirked, the American looked like he was going to piss himself. When all of this was over, he was never going to let the little git hear the end of it. The blonde in question was currently shaking uncontrollably, his lips trembled and his blue eyes were wide open, staring at the screen in horror. His fingers were close to squeezing the stuffing out of the pillow clutched in his hands, whimpering every time a gnarled hand reached across the screen or fake blood spurted out. The buttered popcorn was long gone, it took Alfred under ten minutes to finish the entire bag. These reactions seemed both shocking and understandable to England, it was shocking to see the normally cheerful and fearless nation reduced to a trembling mass of popcorn-devouring American-but at the same time, it made so much sense considering how he was when he was a child. This managed to entertain Arthur much more than the movie did, but he was tired, and the reactions were getting annoying after a while. His mouth stretched into a yawn.

Just at that moment, the girl that had been running around the haunted house was shoved against the wall by some kind of grotesque creature. The piercing wail she let out was nothing compared to the scream that tore from Alfred's mouth. He tossed his pillow and suddenly grabbed Arthur around the waist, engulfing him in a tight hug. Arthur's shock barely matched the pressure of Alfred's arms that were squeezing the life out of him. The English nation let out a gasp of pain as America gave another bone-breaking squeeze.

"Alfred I can't...breathe! Let go of me!"

"N-No way dude!"

"I always knew you were scared of things...but really?"

"I'm not scared! Heroes aren't s-s-scared of anything!"

Arthur was too out of breath to give a reply, and Alfred never noticed the use of his human name and instead closed his eyes as the tension in the movie escalated, drums pounding in the background. Before he even knew what he was doing he buried his head in the Brit's shoulder and rocking back and forth spouting frantic nonsense into the man's shirt. England was dumbfounded. Between trying to breathe, he craned his neck to look at the American panicking by his side. Alfred's glasses were pressed uncomfortably on his shoulder, but his soft hair against his skin, his cowlick tickling his chin, those strong arms, however painful, wrapped around his waist, felt so...good. He missed it. For a moment he forgot about the fact that he was being crushed, forgot about the movie flashing in the dark, forgot about the work abandoned on his desk, forgot about everything, and all that he felt was the weight of Alfred's head and the blonde's strong arms around him.

Slowly the monster was done devouring the girl, America gained the courage to look up at the screen again, and also loosen his grip on England. Arthur let out a low sigh and took a deep breath, aware of how Alfred's arms were still circled around him, ready to close in again should another scary scene appear. He felt out of breath and lightheaded. Green eyes flickered over to the man that was holding him. Alfred was still staring entranced at the TV screen, making him let out a little snort of amusement. Idiot. His eyelids grew heavy, the day's events were beginning to be too much for him, and fighting to breathe made him even more exhausted than he already was. In a few moments he was fast asleep, oblivious to the horrific scenes that flashed in front of him.

* * *

At last the screen darkened for the final time, and the white words of the credits rolled on. America let out a shuddering breath. That was scary. _Thank God_ it was over. But the hero has braved through it! The last few notes of the ending music died away and it returned to the menu. He grinned triumphantly at the TV. He let out another sigh and dipped his head down.

That's when he realized what was actually happening.

Light hair tickled his nose, pale skin brushed against his cheek. The contact was sudden and surprising, Alfred lifted his head quickly and squinted around in the darkness around him to see what exactly was going on. His arms were around...Arthur. England's smaller frame was nestled against his chest, head leaning back into his shoulder. His arms hung loosely at his sides, both the burnt and injured one, still sitting in its cast; the Briton's breath coming out softly through his lips. America sat there, rigid, unable to think out what to do. He was still nervous after watching that horror movie, sitting in the dark, and best of all, England was practically curled up in his arms, asleep. Definitely not something he was expecting to happen. Deep breath, take deep breaths Alfred, he did his best to calm himself out of his little freak-out. What was he to do?

Or, what was he to do with England?

Said country let out a small chuckle and Alfred quickly looked back down again. The man was still asleep.

"Al...fred..."

He raised an eyebrow.

"...its...alright."

What the hell was Arthur ranting about? There came another chuckle.

"The monsters...aren't real."

Oh.

* * *

_"It's here Arshur! They're here! They're all coming to get me!"_

_"Now Alfred-"_

_"I'm gonna be torn to shreds! I'm too young ta die!"_

_A dark night. Curtains had been drawn and candles were blown out in what seemed like an attempt to completely blot out any trace of light. If that was truly the purpose, it was not working. Moonlight flooded the small, plainly-furnished room. It was equipped with the regular necessities, a drawer, desk, bookshelf; small toys were strewn about the floor. The walls were light, almost white, contrasting sharply with the dark mahogany wood that all the furniture, including the bed, was made of._

_Alfred sat rigid in bed. His small, shaking hands clutched the snowy sheets that matched his nightgown. He seemed to be almost swallowed by a sea of pale glowing brilliance. _

_Next to him sat Arthur, looming over him in the half-dark, blocking the light breaking through the curtains. The moonlight framed his edges of his face, his messy hair, and the outlines of his clothes, which he had not bothered to change out of. Arthur had just finished telling him a scary story, although the book now lay abandoned on the nightstand after Alfred's reactions became too much for the Englishman to bear. Alfred was too afraid to even touch the pillows, for fear of finding some dark spirit hiding underneath, waiting to drag him into the shadows of the unknown. He let out a whimper as he felt a large, warm hand press against his back, rubbing slow circles against the fabric of his nightgown. It was Arthur's hand, protecting him, consoling him. The rubbing continued, making slow progress up to his neck and to his head, fingers sifting through his hair. He gripped his covers tighter as Arthur opened his mouth to speak._

_"Alfred."_

_Low and deep, soothing like the lapping of waves on the ocean._

_"Do not be afraid, I'm here." _

_The fingers worked their way faster around his skull._

_"They won't get you, I promise."_

_He turned towards the blonde. _

_"But the story-"_

_"Never mind the story. They won't come here, I'll protect you from them."_

_"Really?"_

_Arthur smiled nodded._

_"Arshur will prwotect me?"_

_"Yes of course."_

_"But what if Arshur gets hurt?"_

_The hand that had been resting on his shoulder froze, Alfred felt him tense, caught unawares by the question._

_"D-don't worry about me," a small laugh, "I won't."_

_Alfred looked back down towards his sheets._

_"Sleep with me Arshur?" he whispered_

_There was a pause, and he wondered if his question wasn't going to be well-received. Arthur stood up, the mattress squeaking as he did so. _

_"If you want Alfred." his tone was gentle_

_Alfred watched as the man went to a corner of the room to take off waistcoat and other daily wear, and finally go behind a screen to put on his nightgown, also white. He emerged, bending down to clear away a few toys that blocked his way. The bed dipped a little as he eased himself with a sigh under the covers. Immediately Alfred felt warmth permeate beneath the blanket. Arthur was always so warm, even in the dead of the night when everything else seemed so cold. He turned around and snuggled his face against the man's chest. He waited for Arthur to get over his initial shock and soon enough, those arms closed over him and engulfed him in a warm embrace. Arthur's breathing was even, and his chest rose and fell in slow motions. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Dark shadows of the tress outside danced across the surface like savage creatures. He turned back towards the comfort of Arthur's chest. A hand came down on his hair again, smoothing it gently. _

_"Alfred..."_

_His eyelids fluttered_

_"...its alright."_

_They closed._

_"The monsters aren't real."_

* * *

He was thinking about those days again. Alfred sent a silent curse in the dark room. Why did he have to start recalling those things now? Letting Arthur stay at his place was turning out to be a horrible decision. Nothing but trouble. Yes, he'd caused some of it, but things were spiraling out of control. He most certainly didn't sign up for a broken arm, complaints about his _delicious_ food, and flashbacks to those bygone days.

And that Brit was still sitting there sleeping in his arms.

Maybe he should just toss the country onto the next couch so they could both get some shut-eye.

"Geez England..." He muttered and put his head on other's shoulder, "...how did it turn out like this?"

There was, of course, no answer.

Everything just had to be awkward. America found it especially awkward that the presence of the foul-mouthed Briton actually didn't faze him as much as it maybe should have. They were always yelling obscenities at each other, in public and in private. Now the very man that was always shouting at him was now resting his head on his chest sleeping soundly. He'd always been quick to fall asleep in the past, and this was no exception.

Yet another unfathomably strange moment with Arthur Kirkland ladies and gents; Alfred snorted. What happened...he did remember a particularly disturbing part of the movie where a young girl got...ugh. He must've hugged Arthur just like he'd usually hug Kiku or Tony. Neither of them seemed to mind, although Kiku always left his house with a slightly perturbed expression and would avoid physical contact afterwards.

For some reason he couldn't really recall the Brit struggling too much when he hugged him, or maybe he just didn't struggle hard enough. He must've just given up and fallen asleep.

Alfred let out a frustrated grumble, what was he even fretting over this so much? He decided to let the matter go sat there, staring around his living room, noting how comfortable Arthur's head against his chest felt.

The minutes dragged by with agonizing slowness. Doing nothing was making America bored, and he tapped his foot impatiently. England must have been sleeping for a _very_ long time. But he couldn't just sit here and wait right along with the Englishman-however much that he wanted to. He slowly eased himself out of the strange position, and found himself setting the older nation down gently on his back. Alfred made his way to the nearby couch and lay down on his side, watching the other country. His eyes remained on the sandy blonde until sleep finally overcame him.

* * *

**A/N: **_It's been over a month since I wrote the last chapter, I'm so sorryyy ;w; Next time I'm not even going to try predicting when my updates will be._

_I didn't think it would take me this long, but life happened, along with some terrible writer's block. So I'm trying to pull myself to together, and at the same time plan for my other story, ugh. This just barely wen't over my 3,000 minimum, so sorry again for the short chapter. Long Author's Note is long._

_About those scary-movie-watching rules, I just made them up XD, I don't mean to dictate how any of you should be watching your movies, horror or not. I myself don't watch a lot of movies, and I can't remember the last time I even watched a horror one, I just came up with the cheesiest one I could think of off the top of my head._

_And that flashback oEo if I look at that any longer I am going to tear my hair out. I didn't realize how difficult writing soft childhood memories in a dark room would be. *gross sobbing*_

_Arthur in a nightgown, *snorts*._

_I apologize too much, sorry. I'll go bang my head on that nice looking wall right there. You can all go enjoy your lovely day, or night, wherever you are, lovely readers._

_If you're still reading this...I think I'm in need of a beta reader! Since I write, I read my stuff and I tend to feel like I'm going too far into detail. Some of the really good fics that I've read sometimes just shorten the act and get straight to the point of what their scene is actually trying to get to, but I just describe _everything_ and then I feel like I'm going in circles. o_o Or help me by reviewing or p-ming my mistakes to me, I would be truly grateful for the help._

_Last question to any of you: Should I respond to reviews in my author's note? I see it a lot and I seem to like the idea, but I'd like to hear what you have to say about that._

Next Chapter Preview -

It sailed through the air under the clear blue sky, and Alfred twisted his neck to see what direction it was going at.

His eyes widened when realized where it was headed.

"Oh _shit_."

_Crash_

Glass shattered and a shriek pierced through the winter air.

_Thanks for reading, R&R please!_

_- aquamarinetiger98 _

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to the great Himapapa a.k.a. Hidekaz Himaruya**


End file.
